The Odair Chronicles: Part One: The Tribute
by Icognito DeMimsy
Summary: Part One of a planned three part story. Part one tells Finnick's story, his life in District Four up to his competing in his first Hunger Games. Rating may go up as the parts progress.
1. Chapter 1

The waves make soft slapping noises against the boards of the boat as they cast off from the shore. The sun was just rising above the ocean when they left, but Finnick felt wide awake none the less. It took two hours to get out deep enough to bring in fish with their worn and tearing nets. Finnick was itching to leap overboard and swim along side the _Rusty Queen_. But somehow he managed to sit quietly on the deck for the two hours, mending an older net. His vacations were too few to risk them.

"Your knots are all wrong, little brother," a voice said from above him.

"I make the best nets in the whole district," he said, glaring up the silhouette of Siobhan Arker. She stood completely even, her legs spread apart to help balance against rolling of the ship. "And don't call me that. I'm fourteen. Besides, he hasn't married you yet. You aren't even related to me."

"Spoken like a true child," she said, laughing lightly. "How's that net? We're almost there."

He stood. Six years younger than her, he already stood a good eight inches above her, a fact which he was justly proud of. While most of the other boys his age were dwarfed by the long, lean girls of district four, he looked old enough to be eighteen.

"Can I steer for a bit?" he asked eagerly.

"Hell no," came the gruff reply from within the cabin of the ship.

Siobhan rolled her eyes. "We're not even a mile away, Neil. How far off course can he take us?"

"You can't say thing like that, Siobhan. He'll take it as a challenge. We'll never see land again."

"Ah, he'd turn us around by dinnertime," she laughed, teasing. "Besides, he knows how heartbroken all the girls back in Four will be if their Finnick disappears for good. I don't know if he could survive more than a week without somebody complementing his pretty face."

Finnick only smiled, winked, and handed her the net. He strolled over to the side of the boat and leaned out over the water. The spray misted onto his face, forcing him to squint.

The boat slowed after a few minutes. Neil turned off the boat and strolled out onto the deck. He wrapped his arms around Siobhan, looking out of the water. "See any fish?" he called out to Finnick.

Finnick turned back to them, grinning, then backflipped over the railing and into the water. He heard Siobhan laughing just before he hit the surf. He pushed himself deeper and deeper into the water, coming within a foot of the bottom before his air ran out and he allowed himself to rocket back to the surface.

"Get back up here, you loon," his brother groused. They had the same bronze hair and sea green eyes, but Neil's hair was shorter and he had a trim beard hugging his square jaw. Finnick spat a stream of water up towards him.

"Toss me a trident," he called. "There's tons of fish out here."

Neil grumbled, but Siobhan tossed him the long wooden stick and began to ready the nets. He paddled about, watching the water, keeping his strokes slow and smooth so as not to trouble the water too much. Suddenly his arm darted out and the trident came up, two fish wriggling on the ends. Siobhan began to clap, and he managed a strange sort of underwater bow, which only made her chuckle louder.

"Get back up here and give us a hand," Neil shouted, unimpressed. Finnick grinned and swam back to the boat.

They passed four happy hours out there, casting out the net and reeling it back in, again and again. The cooler slowly filled with fish.

Finally, Neil went back into the cabin to start the ship. Finnick followed him. "We had a good haul today," he said.

"Not enough," his brother replied. "By the time the Capitol takes its cut, we'll have barely twenty pounds left."

Finnick bit his lip. This was his brother's ship, not the Capitol's, but they were still on the Capitol payroll and still had a quota to reach in order to maintain their license. They could fill their quota and take home what was left to sell it, which left them in a better position than those working on Capitol ships, but only barely.

"You know," Finnick said, "it's not too late to sign up for the tessarae again."

"No," Neil said.

"It's only two more times, Neil."

"No. This is not a discussion, little brother," he said.

Finnick let out a long huff of air and headed back out onto the deck. Siobhan was leaning against the railing. There was a look in her eyes that told him she had heard every word of their conversation.

"It's because he loves you, you know," she said. "He can't stand the thought of anything happening to you."

"There are over a thousand names in the reaping every year," he said. "Two more of mine and we get grain and oil. That's enough to start to save the extra money we get, try and get some better nets or another boat or-"

"It isn't worth it," she said. "Putting you anywhere closer to the games isn't worth a few more nets. Besides," she said, gently bumping her hip against his, "I thought you said you made the best nets in the district."


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they finally put in to shore it was dark. The sun set depressingly early this time of year. A peacekeeper met them at the dock and weighed their catch. "Nice work today," he told them with a smug smile as he slung the bag of fish destined for the capitol onto his back. Neil just nodded.

"Bastard," Finnick muttered. Siobhan chuckled, but Neil glared at him.

"Watch your mouth, kid," he said sternly.

"No worse than you say out on the sea," Finnick retorted.

Siobhan laughed out loud. "He's got you there, Neil."

"I have a hard enough job keeping him under control without you constantly undermining my authority," Neil grumbled. Siobhan only smiled and kissed him.

They climbed the hill up to their wind battered house. "We're home," Siobhan called as they entered. "Finnick, go dry off."

"You can't tell me what to do," Finnick said, but he went all the same. On his way upstairs he stopped and knocked on his father's door. "We're home," he said.

"So I gathered," his father said dryly, wheeling around to face his son.

Other Odair was once as handsome as his sons. Though age had taken its toll on his beauty, it was still there, just faded. His upper arms were strong and well-defined, but his legs were shrunken and wasted beneath the blanket covering them. A shipwreck during a storm had broken his back and drowned his wife, Finnick's mother, four years ago.

"How was the water today?" he asked.

"Good," Finnick said.

"Catch anything good?"

"Nothing of note. I'm going to go change."

Other nodded and turned back to the window. "Neil is making dinner," Finnick added. "It should be ready soon."

His father didn't say anything. After a moment Finnick went upstairs and pulled off his wet clothes, trading them out for a clean linen shirt and pants. A knock on his door and he looked up. Siobhan stood in the door. "There is a gaggle of teenage girls outside who want to know if you're home," she said, leaning against the frame. "Are you?"

"Always," he smirked. She rolled her eyes.

"So should I tell Neil not to bother with frying up another fish?"

"Nah. I'll be home late."

"Not too late," she warned, but kissed his cheek and handed him his jacket all the same. "Have fun."

* * *

The gaggle of teenage girls turned out to be not so much a gaggle as three. Nina Palov and Abby Nolan were in his grade at school. They introduced the younger one as Green, Nina's little sister, who looked fairly bored and grumpy to have been dragged along. They were nice enough, though entirely too besotted with him to be much conversation. After a while, their near constant giggling was wearing on his nerves.

"Wanna go check out the lists?" he finally asked.

_The lists _were District Four slang for Hunger Games training. Training sessions were, of course, completely illegal, but District Four, as one of the three Districts where work was much less regulated, managed to scrape up time for most of its children to learn how to wield a sword and trident effectively. Careers, the other districts called them. He supposed it was because they trained for the Games almost as much as for their future jobs. Of course, that wasn't exactly true. Only the richest in the district really devoted serious time to training. In addition to learning how to use the weapons, the lists provided a tournament of sorts each year. It was supposed to give an indication of your likeliness of getting out of the arena alive. Most people only went once or twice a month. But once or twice a month could make a huge difference in the arena. Finnick had been undefeated in the lists since he was twelve.

The training room was extremely well furnished, especially considering its illegality. Mats lined the walls and floor and wooden tridents and training swords lined the walls. "Odair," the instructor called. "Ring one."

Finnick beamed and turned to wink at the girls before he bounded over to the ring. His opponent was already waiting. He knew the other boy by sight but not name- he was probably three or four years older than him. A heavy longsword was clutched in his hand. Finnick selected a long trident off the wall and gave it an experimental swing before jumping into the ring.

"On my whistle," the instructor called. "Three. Two."

The whistle shrieked and the boy charged him, sword raised high. Finnick side-stepped him easily and waited calmly for the other boy to regain his balance. He did, quite quickly, and came right back at him. This time Finnick caught his sword tip in the prongs of his trident and yanked. The boy staggered and fell, and Finnick rolled on top of him, the points of the trident pressing into his neck and his wrists trapped under Finnick's knees.

"Yield," the boy grunted.

"15 seconds," the instructor called. "Impressive, Mr Odair. Next!"

* * *

He walked back to his house alone. The stars were already out by the time he reached the beach and inhaled the sea breeze. He loved the smell of his district more than anything, salt and oil and sand. He waved as he passed the salt refinery. The foreman waved back. "Say hello to your brother for me," he called after Finnick.

District Four was not a perfect place to live. People went hungry. They drowned. His teacher had once told him that District Four lost the most people in work accidents of all the Districts of Paneam. But Finnick wouldn't want to live anywhere else. "The sea is in our blood," his father had told him once, before his accident. "It's what we do, it's who we are. That's what keeps us different. One, Two, they're the capitols lapdogs. They eat off their plates and wear their clothes and follow what they say to the letter. But us? We have a culture, Finnick."

Sometimes Finnick thought he missed his father more than his mother. It was terrible, he knew, but his mother was still the strong, tall, dark-haired woman cursing out peacekeepers and merchants and singing him to sleep at night in his memory. But his father had wasted away after his mother had died, become moody, withdrawn. The laughing man who'd tossed his wife underwater to stop her from cursing, who taught Finnick how to swim and fish became a surly recluse, barely speaking to his sons, let alone neighbors. It was Siobhan and Neil who were Finnick's parents now.

Their house was one of the farthest from the town possible, so the moon was high above the water when he finally pushed open the door to his house and climbed up to his bed. The moon seemed to create a silver path out across the water.

"Why couldn't we just sail?" he had asked Neil once. "Sail far away and never come back?"

"There's nothing out there, Finnick," Neil had told him. "And you can't live on just fish."

He fell asleep to the sound of the waves.


	3. Chapter 3

The glass bowl in the center of the square contained only three slips of paper reading Finnick Odair. Slim chance for him to be called up onto that stage. That didn't stop Siobhan from attacking him with a wet comb the minute he stepped downstairs that morning.

"You can't wear that," she said as she brushed his hair. "It's practically see-through."

"So?" he said, trying to grab the brush from her. She sighed but relinquished it.

"Go put on a sweater," she said, her hands on her hips. Finnick opened his mouth to argue, but something caught the words in his throat. Arguing with your family on Reaping day seemed like bad luck. He went back upstairs and changed.

By the time he got downstairs, Neil was at the stove, frying up last night's fish. Finnick raised his arms to get Siobhan's approval. "Better?" he asked. She nodded tersely.

Breakfast was quiet, and before he knew it they were grabbing coats and ushering him out the door. "Isn't Dad coming?" Finnick asked Neil as he locked up.

"Not today," Neil said gruffly. Finnick knew better than to argue.

* * *

They were among the first to arrive. Finnick's finger was pricked and he was waved in with the other fourteen year old boys. He started kicking a rock for entertainment. None of the boys his age came over to talk to him. Finnick was never exactly liked by his own gender. He was too pretty, too chatty, and had beaten them all too many times to make many friends. Girls, on the other hand, loved him. Not that he really made friends with girls either, just fooled around with them for a while until he got bored and moved on. He wished that they would get a move on. He was already hungry and Siobhan had promised him a cake after dinner. It wasn't like there was any suspense in the Reapings in District Four. Whoever had the highest rank in the lists would volunteer and then he would go home and sit in the kitchen with Neil and Siobhan as the recaps played in the other room.

The town square slowly started to fill with people. He looked them over distractedly, wondering who was going to volunteer this year. Maybe they'd even win. It would be nice to have a victor from four again.

A hush fell over the crowd and Finnick looked up. The Panem national anthem began to play. One by one, the previous victors from Four marched across the stage. Finnick stifled a yawn. Finally the mayor stepped up and introduced Andronicus Fisher, the escort for District Three. His plastic surgery had gotten to the point where he'd started to look like someone drowned, bloated lips and stretched, unnaturally tinted skin.

"Happy Hunger Games!" he called out. His voice was oddly high pitched and sounded forced. All of the plastic surgery of his face couldn't hide the slight hunch of his shoulders or the tremble in his hands as he waved them around excitedly. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Its an old line, one Finnick had been hearing since birth. He shifted slightly. Odds didn't have much to do with winning in a career district like theirs.

"Let us start," Andronicus wheezed, "With the gentlemen."

A ripple of excitement spread through the boys, but mostly died out by the time it reached the boys his age. They knew they had little to no chance of getting into the arena, no matter whose name was called.

Andronicus hobbled over to the bowl and dropped a claw-like hand in. He made a big show of fishing around for a name. The crowd was dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. Andronicus pulled out a thin slip of paper and crossed back to the microphone.

"The male tribute for District Four is Finnick Odair."

A buzz filled the crowd, but Finnick was scarcely aware of it. His heart was in his throat. _He_ was Finnick Odair.

He had just been reaped for the Hunger Games.

Finnick scarcely had time to process this before someone shoved him forward. Stumbling, he made his way up to the stage.

"Lovely," wheezed Andronicus. "Now. Are there any volunteers?"

A wave of relaxation flooded him. Of course. He wouldn't be going to the games. Somebody would surely rise up to take his place.

But there was only silence.

_No, _he thought, _no, I can't do this, don't make me- _but Andronicus had already moved over to the girl's bowl on the other side of the stage.

_What is happening?_ Somewhere very far away he heard Julia Chamodar called to the stage and from an even greater distance (it seemed) watched as a girl named Russet Taff volunteered to take her place.

He knew that there were those in his district who would have jumped at his chance. He saw them, the boys and girls who spent every Saturday training. They were watching him, their eyes cold and jealous. _Then why didn't you volunteer? _He felt like screaming. _She did!_

The tiny part of his brain still functioning rationally supposed he should be proud. Volunteering was considered a promise in Four. They had a rule about it in the training room. You don't volunteer for somebody whose beaten you in the lists. Volunteers who leaped up onto the stage only to die at the Cornucopia were scorned, not mourned. He supposed, in a very detached sort of way, it meant they thought he stood a good chance of winning.

_Well, they'll be sorry,_ he thought with a slightly hysterical humor. _I'm fourteen years old, no one's ever won that young. I'm going to die. I'm fourteen years old and I'm going to die._

Someone kicked the back of his chair and he stood, dazed. The mayor had finished his speech. Andronicus grabbed his hand a raised it, already triumphant, into the air.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he called, "Your tributes in the Sixty Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

* * *

The peacekeepers showed him into a little room off the great hall of the Justice Building and told him to wait here for visitors.

Neil didn't say anything at first, just wrapped his arms around him so tight Finnick almost couldn't breathe. Then he pulled back.

"When you get in the arena, don't do anything stupid, you hear me? And play to your audience. The more popular, the easier it'll be."

"Right," he said, slightly hazily. He couldn't decide whether it was nerves or lightheadedness left over from Neil's hug.

"You're gonna be fine," Neil said, but his eyes were wet and panicked. "Fine."

* * *

They showed Siobhan in next. She looked pale beneath her tan, but her jaw was set in the firm line that always told Finnick not even charm could wiggle him off the hook.

"Are you okay?" she asked right away.

"I'm going to miss your wedding," he mumbled.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "We'll just hold it when you get back."

He looked her in the eyes for the first time since she'd walked in. "I'm fourteen, Siobhan. I'm practically cannon fodder."

Her hand cracked across his face faster than he could dodge it.

"Snap out of it," she growled. "You're Finnick Odair, alright? You can do this. You want to know why nobody volunteered for you today? Because you're a victor. You've been top of everything since you were ten years old. Since when have you ever let a little thing like _nobody's ever done it before_ stop you?"

Finnick's cheek was burning. So were Siobhan's eyes. He suddenly remembered something she'd told him a long time ago, that when she was fifteen years old her eighteen year old sister had volunteered and had her throat cut open by a boy from District One.

"So here is what you are going to do," she said. "You are going to march up to the Capitol. You're going to turn on that patented Odair charm. You are going to make each and every person in that city love you. And then you are going to do _everything it takes_ to get back home to us, do you hear me?"

He nodded.

"Good," she said harshly. Then her voice and face softened. For a moment Finnick thought he saw his mother somewhere in her face. "I'll see you when you get home."

She got up, her hand trailing along his for a moment, then left. Finnick's vision swam with tears that had nothing to do with the ache in his cheek.

Was it true, what she said? Could he really win the games? It wasn't like he hadn't imagined it. He went to the training rooms on most nights, learned to kill a person hundreds of different ways and survive in a hundred different situations. He could not deny ever lying in bed and hearing Ceasar Flickerman introducing "Your victor, Finnick Odair!" Not like he didn't want the glory and honor. But that was child's stuff, from before he'd gotten old enough to realize what "keeping the districts in line" really meant. That was before Neil's name had to go into that glass bowl again and again to keep Finnick from starving. Before he'd watched Neil's best friend Tempest's guts explode all over his TV screen.

But why couldn't he win? He had been toppling children twice his age since he was three. He was hardly inexperienced. And it was also true that the capitol's favorites had the easiest time. With their weakness for beauty, there was no way he couldn't win them all over.

_I could win,_ he realized. _I could do it._

"Mr Odair," a peacekeeper said from the doorway. "Is there anyone else you'd like to see?"

_My father,_ he opened his mouth to say, but then closed it and shook his head. His father was safe at home. Best to just leave him.

"In that case, please come with me to the train."

Finnick rose unsteadily to his feet and followed the peacekeeper through the justice building. It wasn't going to be easy. He'd need a high score from the judges or nobody would be betting on him, no matter how pretty he was. Most times an eight was considered solid, but as a fourteen year old he'd need at least a nine. He wondered fleetingly who his mentor was before the peacekeeper lead him up to the door of the train.

"Your compartment is down the hall," she said, not unkindly. Finnick just nodded. He thought she looked a little put out by his silence, but there was to much going on inside his head to risk opening his mouth. He shuffled down the hall and pushed open the compartment door.

Apparently the capitol had wanted to make it look more homey. The walls were painted like waves, light blue with white caps, and holographic seagulls glimmered in the air above him. Finnick thought it all looked patently ridiculous, but the bed was large and inviting, and he fell right into it and a deep sleep.


End file.
